DRR Oh, Idaho
by Mariel3
Summary: It wasn't exactly where he'd wanted to be, but it didn't turn out so badly. DRR


This is a ridiculous piece of fluff, but there are parts I hope y'all like. Thanks for the feedback for my previous stories. Thanks also to Diane - and to Tracy, who read this first, and laughed in the right spots!

Oh, Idaho

By: Mariel

Dressed in standard suit and tie, John Doggett stood just inside the large, opened double barn doors. Hands on hips, feet spread and firmly planted, his shadow stretched out long and thin towards the interior's darkness. This was the third barn he'd been in today, the seventh in the past two. Stepping further inside, he let its muted quiet settle around his shoulders and smiled ever-so-slightly as long forgotten memories returned.

An old barn, a loft filled with hay, dust motes dancing in warm sunbeams... Perfect, he thought. With the right person, a good roll in the hay would be-

A casually dressed Monica Reyes stepped past him into the barn, looking around in pleased wonder. John glanced sideways at her.

-wonderful.

But impossible.

He sighed and turned away from his raven-haired partner on the pretext of examining the layout of the huge barn they'd come to investigate.

Monica, always sensitive, looked at him with dark eyes. Surprised at the rush of emotion rolling off him, she smiled inwardly and continued her perusal of the inside of the old building without comment. "Mr. Brown," she told him a few moments later, "said the light was shining from inside, that there was light coming through every window, door, and crack in the wall, but I don't see-"

John held up his hand and interrupted her. Shaking off his errant thoughts of making love in a loft, he told her, "Mr. Brown is a nice old man with too much imagination and too little sleep." Resolutely turning his attention away from the slender form of his partner, he walked towards where horses had once been kept. Opening a stall door, he turned on his flashlight and stepped inside. An ancient looking harness hung from a nail to his left. An old curry brush balanced on a ledge. The floor had been swept clean long ago, and it looked as though only mice and dust had settled in since the horse had left for the last time. Nothing here worth noting.

He stepped backward out of the stall and let its iron latch click down into place.

"You take care of the rest of the stalls, I'll go check out the loft," Monica said, already halfway up a ladder. She paused for his answer, her face framed by the ladder rungs.

"Sure," he said, looking up at her, "go ahead. Watch out for bats, though."

She made a face at him, then flashed even, white teeth. "They don't scare me. I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Yeah, just scream and I'll come runnin'."

His tone told her he had little expectation of having to do so.

Monica grinned and continued up the ladder. Unable to help himself, he watched her every step of the way. Her black jeans and the crisp, sleeveless white shirt she'd accompanied them with made her look fresh and cool, and she moved with a long limbed grace that never failed to fascinate him. When she disappeared out of sight, he stood a moment, staring. Then he turned and walked to the next empty stall.

-DRR-

Crawling off the ladder and onto the floor of the loft, Monica remained on her knees a moment, then stood up. Turning, she looked down in time to see John disappear in the direction of the horse stalls. She sighed, wishing he'd get over whatever it was that was bothering him. She knew he was ticked off that they'd been sent out here to investigate reports about suspicious lights in a farmer's barn. A rash of similar reports in the area during the past three weeks had encouraged Skinner to decide it was worth investigating. She'd been happy to get out of the office for a couple of days. John, continuing a black mood he'd been in for what seemed like ages, had seen nothing to be pleased about.

Pushing John's bad mood firmly aside, she looked around the loft. They'd been here in Springdale, Idaho, for two days now, running through the list of barns that had been afflicted by unexplained illumination. She felt she was beginning to develop a certain appreciation for them. The one they were presently in was by far her favourite to date. It was old, painted the traditional barn red, and still housed one lone work horse named Queenie. At one time, Mr. Brown had told her, there had been more than twenty head of cattle stabled here, along with four work horses, a number of sheep, and at least one pig kept in a sty built against the east side of the building. Outside, corn, potatoes and clover grew as far as the eye could see - fields now leased out to another, larger operation, the old farmer had explained. "I can't look after it myself, but can't stand the idea of not seeing somethin' growin'. I don't get much for lettin' the land out, but at least it's still mine. I can take pleasure in lookin' at it every mornin'."

Monica had smiled in understanding. John, wanting to get on with things, hadn't been in much of a mood to stand and listen. She'd looked at him uncertainly as he'd walked away, not knowing what, exactly, had been bothering him lately. She'd hoped coming out into the country would reduce the tension he'd been carrying with him, and had expected him to feel right at home in these surroundings. He'd been brought up in a rural area, and though the farms he'd have been familiar with wouldn't have been as large as the ones here, she'd still expected him to relax and maybe ditch the dour outlook.

His behaviour had not met with her expectations. If anything, he'd become even more morose.

Looking down at her knees, she brushed hay off her dark coloured pants. Straightening up, she grimaced when she realised that once again John and his strange mood had taken over her thoughts.

-DRR-

Below her on the main level, John continued his tour. He didn't hold out much hope of finding anything - they certainly hadn't in any of the other barns - but he still tried to remain as professional and methodical as possible. He'd done the four horse stalls - only one of the four had shown signs of being occupied - and was about to enter where the cattle had once been kept.

He shone his light down the empty space and felt a sadness sweep over him. Just as the empty horse stalls had been, this area was carefully swept, the cement floor and troughs cleaned. An eerie sense of waiting made the air feel heavy and close, and silence rang in his eardrums, making him feel uneasy.

Softly, something rustled on the floorboards overhead. Almost relieved to hear a sound, he looked up, trailing his flashlight along the ceiling. Not seeing anything, he waited a moment, but heard nothing more. Shrugging, and thinking 'mice', he walked down the side of the cattle area.

Being here brought back a lot of memories. Though his father hadn't been a farmer, some of his friends' fathers had been. He'd helped with chores, joined in during harvest time, played in the cornfields and haylofts...and experienced his first kiss with Barbara out behind Christopher Braxton's barn.

He rolled the memory around in his mind, savouring it. There was none of the bitterness or hurt the thought would once have brought. The realisation both pleased and surprised him. He'd expected coming here to stir up emotions he'd long ago buried - feelings of first love, life and laughter and promise. Which is why he'd wanted to stay in D.C., where routine and the responsibility of going to the office every morning provided him the protection from emotions that he needed.

A protection, he admitted to himself, that was losing its effectiveness.

For some things, he was beginning to learn, there was no protection.

He heard more rustling overhead and looked up. Monica was in her element. She'd been loving every minute of their time here, and had done nothing to disguise it. His lack of enthusiasm had done nothing to dim hers - if anything, she'd seemed to be amused by his refusal to loosen up. She'd appeared to be especially amused today, and he wondered if she really could read his thoughts the way he sometimes suspected she could.

He felt heat gently flush his face. His thoughts had been a little more colourful today than usual. He understood he was a normal guy with normal needs. He was also, however, a man capable of ignoring those needs if the timing was wrong or if they were inappropriate. He'd decided long ago his thoughts and needs in regard to Monica fit both categories - the timing was wrong and they were inappropriate. He was too old, too unlike her, and now they worked in the same office. That just about covered it.

For the first time in many years, however, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about possibilities - and with greater and greater frequency. The longer they worked together, the more he wanted to be with her. The attraction he felt for her was no surprise - he'd felt an unaccustomed openness towards her since they first met - but lately...lately he'd realised that he felt more than just comfortable with her. He wanted to matter to her. He wanted her to smile because he made her smile. He wanted her to want to be with him.

It made him feel like a goddamned adolescent.

Mentally kicking himself, he wondered how she was doing in the loft.

-DRR-

Above, Monica continued her search. Rustling sounds from a far corner led her to an area filled with hay bales. As she neared, she could hear the faint sound of mewling. Smiling, she walked over and got down on her hands and knees. Yup. Suspicions confirmed, she moved one of the bales slightly, and a litter of 5 kittens of varying colours was revealed. Reaching out, she picked one up and held it against her, enjoying the softness of its fur. Murmuring little nothings to it, she settled onto the floor, her search forgotten.

John finished examining the barn. Sighing, he walked to the ladder and made his way up. At the top, he brushed straw from his pants and then looked around. The loft was almost completely filled with hay. Newly brought in - it smelled sweet, and fresh - it was, he remembered, being stored here for a neighbour of Mr. Brown who was short on space. In spite of himself, he felt himself relax. Inhaling deeply, he smiled. Footsteps muffled by the hay, he walked softly until he spotted Monica's dark-haired head.

"Monica?"

She looked up and smiled. "Over here, John. Look what I found."

Walking over, he couldn't help but smile. All five kittens were now out of their nest and vying for Monica's attention. On her part, Monica was readily complying, patting them all as they rubbed themselves against her.

"Come here and help me pat them."

Her smile lit up his heart. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on him, then admonished himself for the thought. Of course not. She'd be no more interested in him than any other old guy around. He knew what her type ran to - Brad Follmer. He knew he wasn't a player in that league.

Still, the thought of being close to her in the warmth of a summer's day had him squatting down and reaching a large hand to gently touch one of the plump, active kittens. The black feline receiving his attentions immediately rolled over and wrapped her paws around his hand, biting and using her hind legs to scratch as it fought his palm. John lifted his hand and the kitten clung to it, oblivious of the height off the ground it was now being held.

"A fighter, eh?" he asked Monica, his blue eyes smiling.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Monica looked at them wistfully, and Doggett knew instinctively that they'd be taking one home to Washington with them. Impulsively, he reached over and took a piece of straw out of her hair.

"What were you doin' up here, taking a nap?"

"No, just playing with the kittens. Aren't they lucky to have such a great place?"

He looked around. Fresh hay, sunshine, warmth, and Monica. Yup, a great place.

"Wonder where the mother is."

Monica looked at the kittens critically. "They're getting pretty big. She probably leaves them to hunt."

John nodded. Sitting down, he leaned against a bale of hay.

"You're tired," Monica said.

"Nah, just wonderin' what we're doin' here." He made a gesture with his hands. "Seems like a waste of time - there hasn't been anything in these barns that don't belong in these barns. I don't know what they've all been seein', but whatever it is hasn't left anything behind."

Monica nodded. "I don't understand it, either. I'm glad we got the chance to come, though. It's been like a holiday, only with pay." She smiled and something inside him melted.

Something inside always melted when she smiled at him. It scared him sometimes, the thought that her smile could melt his fear, his sadness, his anger and pain. With it all washed away, what would be left? He didn't know anymore.

And was afraid to find out.

They sat a moment in companionable silence, idly playing with the kittens and in no particular hurry to go anywhere.

John watched her as she fondled the small animals. She smiled when they pounced at her wriggling fingers, scolded when their tiny sharp teeth nipped too hard.

"Other people have been here to visit them, you know."

Monica looked up. "What makes you say that?"

"They're old enough they'd be scared of people if they weren't used to them."

"Perhaps Mr. Brown comes."

John shook his head. "Farmers don't usually go out of their way to pay attention to their mouse catchers. He may not even know they're up here."

Monica frowned. "He lives alone. He said his wife passed away a few years ago. Who would be coming up to visit them?"

"Maybe we should ask."

When Monica nodded, John rose and stretched a hand out to her. She looked up at him as he drew her to her feet.

"Careful of the kitten!" John cautioned, seeing where her foot was going.

Monica stumbled, trying to avoid the little blur of fur that was now dashing back behind the hay bales. John caught her deftly. The full body contact took his breath away. She was warm and smelled of hay and strawberries. A current of emotion surged through him. He could feel her warm breath on his face...

"John?"

His blue eyes held her dark ones. Abruptly, he let go of her. Looking away, he said, "I thought you were gonna step on the little bugger."

Still somewhat breathless from their closeness, she nodded. "I didn't see him. Thanks."

John relaxed and smiled. "Wouldn't want you to be takin' a damaged animal back to Washington with you."

Looking at him with large, surprised eyes, she stilled. "How did you know I was going to ask for one of them?"

"You just had that look."

She nodded, and looked back towards where the kittens had run to hide. "I might change my mind. We'll see. They're awfully cute, and the company would be nice..." Her voice trailed off.

"You can ask after we talk to him about visitors," John promised.

Nodding, she started to walk to the ladder that would take them back to the main level. Looking down to see if she had hay on her pants, she stopped abruptly.

Bending down, she picked something up and straightened. "What do you suppose this is doing here?" she asked, turning towards him and holding up a small black cylinder.

John took it from her and frowned. "Looks like a camera film casing," he said.

"And like I said, what do you suppose it's doing here?"

After a fruitless search for something more, John gestured towards the ladder. "Let's go revisit Farmer Brown."

-DRR-

As expected, Mr. Brown had no idea what an empty film canister would be doing in the loft of his barn.

Monica did.

Turning to John, she exclaimed, "Stills! Someone's taking stills. Ones that need really good lighting - hence the bright flashes of light."

John looked at her. "Who'd want to take pictures of hay?"

"Not the hay, John; what's in the hay!"

He frowned, knowing he wasn't getting it. "The kittens? Who'd want to-"

She controlled a smile. "You're close: but not THAT sort of kittens, John. Playboy kittens."

"Bunnies," he corrected automatically, though he still hadn't connected the dots. A moment's thought, then his face blanked. "Ohhhhh. You mean someone's shooting nude pictures in the barn?"

Monica nodded and smiled. "Case solved."

He frowned and thought for a moment. "It's quite a leap you're taking, but yeah, maybe you're right. We need to find something like this in another barn. That'll help support that there's likely been people taking pictures, and the lights the farmers have been seeing is the photographer's lighting."

They began to walk towards their rental, still talking. "I don't understand why they wouldn't just rent a barn," John commented, not totally convinced of Monica's theory.

"John, this is rural Idaho. What decent, upstanding farmer is going to allow that sort of thing on his property? And if it's kids doing it, they wouldn't have the money. Or the permission."

He paused, then agreed. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. But doing it at night and allowing their lights to show is pretty gutsy, don't you think?"

"No. Take a look at the barns we've been to - they're all basically deserted," Monica explained. "People likely thought that once it was past bedtime, no one would be the wiser. It's just happenstance that some of the farmers around here are light sleepers!"

Finding her mood infectious, John slid into the passenger side of the car and smiled. "Okay. Now that we know what we're looking for, this should be a cinch."

He was right. Sort of. Two barns later, they found the cover to a canister that fit the one they had found in Brown's barn. Monica recalled seeing the rubber foot of what she now expected was likely a tripod in another barn, and they went to retrieve it. Evidence collected, they pondered whether or not to leave or to try to finish the case off by catching the perpetrators.

"Why don't we catch them?" Monica asked, trying to be her most persuasive. "It'd take what, a night or so?"

"How would we know which barn to stake out?"

"Deduction. It would have to be a barn in this area that doesn't have livestock in it and that isn't used regularly - and a fair distance from the farmhouse. We can ask Mr Brown. Oh, and it shouldn't be one they've already used. They don't seem to ever go back to one they've been to. Guess they don't like to tempt fate."

John nodded. "Okay. We'll see if we can catch them in the act. But just one night. Our flight leaves tomorrow morning at 7am, and I plan to be on it. This ain't no 'X-File' anymore, Monica."

"I know," she smiled, "but it'll be fun to do something a little different. We can book out of our motel, do the stakeout, solve the case once and for all, and then head straight for the plane. We can sleep on the flight back."

Understanding how she felt, John smiled back at her. Sometimes it felt like a good, regular case to sink their teeth into would be a nice thing. This wasn't exactly cloak and dagger stuff, but it was better than nothing.

"Fine," he agreed. "Let's talk to Mr. Brown, grab something to eat, and wait for dark."

-DRR-

Which is exactly what they did. Mr. Brown had frowned, thought a long moment, then suggested two places that might fit the requirements Monica felt were needed in the next location. Getting out a map, they determined the general pattern of movement in barn selection and chose the one closest in proximity to the latest sighting. After a late dinner, they packed up their things at their motel, signed out, and made their way to Jenson's Farm while it was still light outside. Parking their car some distance beyond the farm on a turnoff to a hay field, they backtracked on foot.

Jenson's Farm had seen better days. The barn, once they got a closer look at it, was in bad need of a paint job, and one of the large sliding doors hung slightly akilter to its mate. Weeds growing in the dirt drive that led to it consolidated its general air of desolation. The farmhouse itself stood on the brow of a hill about 500 yards away. Its windows were dark, no curtains evident.

"Mr. Brown said he thought the farm's tenants had moved out recently. I think he's right. This place looks deserted - and perfect for what our photographers would need."

Taking a deep breath of clean air, John nodded. "Let's check out the inside and figure out where we want to be."

Twenty minutes later, they'd cased the place and had decided where to lie in wait.

Two hours later, they began to question the sanity of what they were doing.

Three hours later, Monica turned on her flashlight, not because she needed to - light from a full moon now streamed through the hayloft window - but because she wanted John to wake up. Nudging him she said, "John, you're snoring."

He opened his eyes groggily. "What?"

"You're snoring, roll over on your side." Her voice was a little testy.

Without thinking, he did as he was told. A pause, and then he asked in a curious tone, "What's rolling over supposed to do?"

"Stop you from snoring."

"Says who?"

"John, it just will. Trust me. If you're not going to stay awake to keep me company, the least you can do is be quiet enough not to scare away anyone who might show up." She shivered, and rubbed her arms. "I'm so cold I can't even think."

"The temperature drops fast this time of year."

"Now you tell me," she muttered, flicking off her flashlight. "I thought a sweater would be enough, but I guess not. It doesn't look as though anyone's going to show. This was a really dumb idea." She thought of her soft, warm hotel bed with longing. Booking out had been another dumb idea. She couldn't believe John had let her do it. Now they were stuck here, freezing, and all for nothing. Any confidence she'd had in solving the case had dissolved with the lowering temperature.

John sat up and rearranged the blanket he'd been lying on. Assuming a reclining position against a pile of hay, he gestured towards her. "Come here. Bring your blanket."

She looked over at him through the gloom. Pausing a moment, she slowly moved towards him, her heart beginning to beat an irratic rhythm. Sitting down beside him carefully, she relished the warmth his body gave off. Doing her best to cover the effect his nearness had on her, she settled against him and forced herself to relax.

Arranging her blanket over them both, he smiled. Not his fantasy, exactly, but getting close. Carefully, he put his arm around her. "Just to keep you warmer," he assured her. Once again feeling like a clumsy teenager, he inhaled the scent of her hair. He hugged her to him briefly on the pretext of getting himself situated more comfortably, then relaxed and placed his head back against the piled bales of hay. Closing his eyes, he allowed the warmth of her body and the quiet of the night to lull him back to sleep.

-DRR-

After a total of four hours of waiting, with the moon high and no sight of anyone anywhere, Monica stirred reluctantly. Carefully, she moved so that she could see John's face. His features, relaxed by sleep, were smoother, making him look younger and less care-worn. Her heart filling with emotion she knew was pointless, she quashed an impulse to lightly touch his face with her fingertips. Instead, she prodded him gently in the side. "John. Wake up. I don't think there's much point in staying here all night. We might as well go back. At least we'll get some sleep before our flight leaves."

Sitting up straighter, John tried to get a grasp on where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Raking fingers through his close cropped hair, he said in a gravelly voice, "Monica, we're packed. Our suitcases are in the car." He moved a little, his arm still behind her. Wanting nothing more than to draw her back against him, he looked at her and wondered if she'd go for just staying the night where they were.

Obviously not on the same wavelength as he, she told him, "It's only 2 a.m. We can book another room. Or sleep in the car, if we have to."

Decision made, Monica rose and made for the door. Missing her presence, John followed. Outside, she took a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"I thought you'd quit those things," he remarked, stretching some of the kinks out of his back.

She smiled. "I have. Kind of. This pack is a treat." Lighting up, she winced as the smoke grabbed the back of her throat.

"A treat?" It looked like they were trying to kill her.

"Yes. You know how you like to have the occasional one when you're out drinking? I like to have the occasional one when I'm out in the country. I love the combination of clean air and the taste of fresh tobacco."

What she said made a warped kind of sense, so he didn't argue. She had taken only a puff or two, however, when they saw two headlights turn a corner in the distance.

"Hey, we have company," John said, pointing at the approaching vehicle.

Quickly, Monica tossed her cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. Following John, she retraced their steps back into the barn and back to their hiding spot.

-DRR-

An old, battered blue van pulled up slowly in front of the barn. The two agents listened unseen as it stopped, then heard doors creak as they were opened and then closed carefully. Heavy, whispered comments they couldn't quite make out were made, followed by the sound of equipment being moved and people approaching. A few minutes more, and bright illumination filled the large space.

"Hey, hurry up with that stuff. We don't have all night."

"Listen," another voice replied gruffly, "if you hadn't needed that last couple of beer, we'd have been here and gone by now, so quit your complainin'"

"Jeff, don't," a feminine voice said in a plaintive tone. "Let's just do this. It's freezing cold. I'm going to have goosebumps. They'll look awful."

"No one'll notice that, babe," the first voice reassured her. "These pictures are going to make you famous."

A sneeze. "They'd better. I've just about had enough of this hay stuff. Why couldn't we have done something different? What's wrong with a hotel bed somewhere?"

"Because old guys get off on thinking about a girl in a barn lying naked on the hay," came the disgruntled reply. "I send these in and the right people see them and you're in business. And maybe me, too, if they recognize just how good I am."

John grimaced at the 'old guys' reference, and continued listening in silence. In the darkness, Monica smiled.

Lights were arranged, rearranged, and adjusted.

"Where's the blanket?"

"Where's the saddle?"

"Who packed the picnic lunch?"

There was a pause, then the girl asked, "Picnic lunch?"

"Yeah. I want to do a scene where you're..you know...lying on the checkered table cloth, with the basket of food lying beside you."

"I got it, Jeff," said the second male voice.

"And when were you going to tell me about it? I don't know if I want to pose with a basket," the girl said, sounding petulant.

"Stop whining and just do what I say. This is the last night, babe, and we're done. I'll get these developed, send them off, and you're playgirl of the month within a year for sure."

"Okay, okay," the girl said, her voice resigned. "Here goes nothing."

The sound of rustling clothes, then, "That's it, lie back. Think of warm summer sun, hot summer nights, the guy of your dreams lookin' at you and thinkin' how hot you look, how beautiful you are..."

"Think we've heard enough?" John asked in a quiet undertone.

Monica nodded.

The two agents rose from their hiding spot. Both holding their FBI badges, they strode forward. "FBI. You're under arrest for unlawful trespassing and whatever else the police can come up with when they get here," Monica told them as she drew closer.

John flashed her a questioning look. She responded with a raised eyebrow. What was she supposed to tell them? She didn't know what the hell laws they were breaking, but she knew damned well they shouldn't be doing what they were doing. Let the local law enforcement figure out the actual charges.

The girl dove for her clothes. The two boys stood, mouths agape.

John walked over to the kid standing behind the camera tripod. "Sorry, I think you're going to have to put your career in photography on hold for a while." Looking at the young, amply endowed brunette he'd been photographing, he said, "And she'd better be of age, or you're in even bigger trouble."

-DRR-

Police and culprits gone, John and Monica stared at one another in amusement. The three kids had been adamant theirs was an artistic endeavour. "And hell, maybe it was. Maybe he really was gonna send those pictures off," John said.

"Or sell them to his friends! What was that girl thinking?"

"I don't think she was thinking much."

Monica shook her head, then looked around. "I guess we can go now. Case solved. Skinner is going to be overjoyed when he hears what we found."

"We can make something up, if you want."

Monica grinned at his tone. The thought had its appeal. Yawning, however, she said, "I need some sleep, first."

John looked at his watch. "You won't get much between now and when we have to be at the airport. Why don't we head straight there now? You can sleep while we wait for our plane."

Monica nodded. Looking back at the barn, she remembered their blankets. "We should go back in and get our stuff."

John followed her back inside. The moon was lower, and the barn's interior darker. Turning on their flashlights, they followed the halos of light to where they had sat waiting.

Monica picked up a blanket and shook it. She looked over at John while she folded it, remembering how they had sat together. She'd enjoyed his closeness, loved the smell of his aftershave and the feel of his arm around her.

John held her gaze. He'd remember tonight for a long time. It had been good to sit near her, to pretend for a while he was more than just a partner to her. He knew he had to be careful, knew that there were boundaries, but he had to admit he was finding them more and more constrictive. Once, he'd found those boundaries a protection of sorts, now, he felt himself beginning to chafe under their restrictions.

He'd always known he liked her, but now? Now he wanted to take her home and make love to her until he was too tired to think, speak, or analyse what the hell he was doing. He wanted to make her cling to him in need, to scream his name, to demand every ounce of him he had to offer.

He watched as she bent down to pick up the second blanket.

Maybe he'd have to do something about that.

Someday.

At the moment, though, he had a surprise for her.

"We've got one stop to make before we head to the airport," he told her.

She stopped folding the blankets. "Why?"

"You've got a couple kittens to pick up, don't you?"

She shook her head. "I didn't ask for one. I'll regret it, but it just didn't seem like the right time."

"I though maybe you were thinking that," John said, "but sometimes ya need to follow your impulses. You wanted one, so I phoned Mr. Brown when you were in the ladies' room at the restaurant and told him you'd like a couple of them. He said it was fine by him."

Monica stood in the light of the flashlight and stared at him. "You didn't."

"I did."

Happiness welled up inside her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck.

So she did.

"You're wonderful!" She exclaimed. "I can't believe you did it, but I'm so glad you did. Can we go pick it up now? Will we have time before our plane leaves? Do we have something we can put it in? Will-"

John reluctantly let go of her. "Hold on. It's all taken care of. The airline says we can get a box for them, so I've made the arrangements and all we have to do it show up with them."

She stepped back and looked at him in wonder. "I still can't believe you did this." She paused, thinking back over their conversation. There was something he said... "Wait. Did you say 'them'? As in more than one?"

"Yeah, I told you. I got two." Thinking his enthusiasm might have got him into trouble, he began to explain himself: "Monica, it ain't all that much. You said you wanted one, and I knew that one wouldn't be fair, so I figured two would keep each other company if you were workin' late or somethin'."

She looked at him in amazement. "John, this is positively the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long, long time. But I hope you're prepared to help look after them if I need someone to come in and feed them or something." No point, she thought, in allowing an opportunity to have more contact with him pass her by.

Relieved, John nodded. "No problem. Nothing wrong with cats." He liked the idea. Liked that idea a lot. Some might even say he'd unconsciously planned this, figured that maybe the kittens might bring them together a little, make things a little less about work and more about their personal lives.

Some might.

Monica wondered that very thing for a moment, then placed the thought aside. Things were moving. It was nice. She smiled at him, and took his hand. "Let's go get them."

John, feeling like a kid who'd just given a present to his first girl, followed her out into a morning just beginning.

He felt good. Real good. Oh, Idaho. It wasn't such a bad place after all.

The end

Oh, Idaho

By: Mariel


End file.
